


The Friend-Ship

by Moon_Disc



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Daily life on the Liberator, Friendship, Gen, Humour and Mischief, Naughty, Never tell Vila a secret, Teleporting is serious stuff, Ways to embarrass Avon, When is a leotard not a leotard, Whine & Wine, general silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29039382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Disc/pseuds/Moon_Disc
Summary: Years after Gauda Prime, the Federation are still trying to work out the internal layout of theLiberator. But what they think happened in certain places and whatreallyhappened is another matter...An irreverent look at daily life on the ship room by room to reveal what we never got to see. Much silliness ensues!
Comments: 14
Kudos: 10





	1. The Flight Deck

**The Flight Deck**

“Schematics. They only tell you so much.”

Brose, the over-stuffed Commissioner for Federation Spaceship Research and Development, tossed the data pad across the desk to his second-in-command, Carson. Watching the younger man squinting at the screen, Brose was confirmed in his suspicion that Carson had a sight defect that would have ruled him out of anything other than a routine desk job. To have got this far, he was either a good actor or willing to live with constant eye strain.

Had it been any other man, Brose might have reported him. But Carson was one of the finest analysts he had ever known and a damned fine subordinate. This minor failing he was prepared to overlook.

While Carson studied and deepened the burgeoning crow’s feet at the sides of his eyes, Brose took a sip of brandy and pinched the excess liquid from his fleshy lips with finger and thumb. 

“So much we know of the _Liberator_ from contemporary accounts,” said he when he had regained the other man’s attention.

“Accounts?” Carson queried.

Brose shrugged. “Blake had a habit of picking up waifs and strays. Rebels, dreamheads, the folk from Destiny: not exactly the most reliable of sources, but under the circumstances, the best we could do, in the absence of the man himself.”

“And these ‘waifs and strays’ have proved helpful?”

“With encouragement.”

Carson thumbed the screen to adjust the plan of the flight deck. The larger image brought to life a scene of tiered seating, each with its own console, stepped down to a central area, where a semi-circular sofa surrounded a table.

“A curious feature for a flight deck,” he wondered aloud. “A conference area, perhaps?”

“For plotting against the Federation, no doubt.” Brose chuckled and clasped his fat fingers across his barrel-like chest. “Much good it did them! Imagine it, Carson, what we could have learned if we could have listened in to those discussions. All the plans Blake and his crew shared, all the conversations they had, all the secrets they shared...”

* * * * * * *

“We’re agreed then,” Blake said as the murmurs of approbation subsided. 

He had taken the middle seat, with Gan and Cally to his right, Jenna to his left and beside her, Vila picking at his teeth, while at the very end, Avon was fiddling with the secondary console, dividing his attention between minor adjustments to the force wall and the conversation. 

“If we can destroy the communications relay on Zefron,” he continued, “half the planets in the Fourth Sector will be free of immediate Federation interference. Let’s hope they’re in a position to capitalise on it.”

“If not?” said Gan.

“That’s their problem,” said Vila with a shrug. “We can’t be expected to do everything.”

“Or in your case, anything,” Avon remarked.

Vila bridled. “I do my bit.”

“Which bit is that? We would all like to know, Vila.”

“That course will take us near Avento,” said Jenna, studying the navigation chart Blake had called up on the main scanner. “It’s a neutral planet and they’re willing to trade with anyone. We should make a stop. There’s a few things I need.”

“Oh?” Vila said. His bright, speculative eyes spoke of mischief. “Women’s things?”

“Vila,” Gan said disapprovingly as he folded his arms.

Jenna fixed the smirking thief with an unfriendly eye. “Yes, if you mean those parts we need to repair the automatics. This woman needs a rest from running the ship on manual all the time.”

“We’ll make it a priority.” Blake’s tone became censorious. “And, Vila, remember where you are. Watch your language.”

“What did I say?” he protested. “Women’s things, men’s things, what does it matter? Take Avon here. He needs men’s things. You’ll be going down to Avento, won’t you, Avon?”

Avon’s face froze as Vila nudged him in the ribs.

“That’s enough,” warned Blake.

Vila carried on regardless. He lowered his voice and spoke behind his hand. “He’s got a rash.”

Avon threw down his tool. “Shut up, Vila.”

“Have you?” Cally asked with concern. “Does it require medical attention?” 

“Is it infectious?” Gan wanted to know.

Avon squirmed in his seat under the combined scrutiny of the other members of the _Liberator_. Beside him, Vila was grinning, revelling in his obvious embarrassment.

“It isn’t a rash,” Avon replied tersely. “And it’s none of your business.”

“It is if it’s serious,” said Blake. “If your health is compromised–”

“It’s his underwear,” Vila announced, looking supremely pleased with himself. 

Gan’s eyebrows rose halfway up his brow. Blake sighed with exasperation. Cally put her hand over her mouth in shock. Jenna sucked in her cheeks and tried not to laugh. 

“Thank you, Vila,” Avon muttered. “They didn’t need to know that.”

“It’s the alien fabrics from the _Liberator’s_ store room doing it,” Vila went on, ignoring the daggers Avon was glaring in his direction. “All this time, suffering in silence. He’s got chafing.”

A ripple of laughter escaped someone. Avon’s head whipped round to identify the culprit.

“I’m glad you find it amusing,” he said indignantly. “I need natural fibres.”

“Says the man who claimed he was going to be able to adapt in a penal colony,” scoffed Vila. “You Alphas are all the same. Take away your satin sheets and essential oils and fancy food, and you can’t cope. You should have tried growing up in the Delta service grades. Natural fibres? We were lucky to get _any_ fibres. You didn’t hear anyone complaining about rashes back then. We were too busy scraping a dishonest living.”

“Yes, well,” said Blake, getting to his feet, “I’m sure you’ll find what you need on Avento, Avon. Journey time, Zen?”

“One hundred and sixty-two hours,” replied the computer.

“That’s not too long,” said Cally. “Will you be able to cope with the discomfort? There might be a topical lotion in the medical unit that might help.”

“No,” Avon said quickly. “I’ll manage.”

“How very brave of you,” remarked Jenna.

“I have delicate skin.”

“I always said you had a sensitive side,” said Vila.

“You say too much.”

“Well, you know what they say: a problem shared is a problem halved.”

Avon scowled at him and made a hasty exit.

Before Vila could follow, Blake stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Was that necessary?”

“I thought so,” said Jenna, smirking as she passed. “It doesn't hurt to remind Avon he's human.”

Blake returned her smile before turning his attention back to Vila. “How did you know?”

Vila thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “He came to me about his problem. Swore me to secrecy.” He made a show of frowning. “Funny thing about me and secrets though, I never could keep them to myself.”

“That doesn't explain why he would think you could help him?”

“Ah, well, there weren’t only alien fabrics in that store room, you know. While the rest of you were picking out fancy outfits, I snaffled all the comfy underwear. After all,” he added with a grin, “we can’t be expected to fight the Federation and be itchy at the same time!”


	2. The Teleport

**The Teleport**

“Ah, the teleport!” Brose pursed his lips. “Instantaneous matter transmission. The dream of the Federation since the early days of its inception. A considerable amount of money was allocated to its development.”

“Aquitar, wasn’t it, Commissioner?” said Carson.

“Indeed. Blake worked on that project. It was suggested that he created the teleport system himself, however we were crediting him with too much intelligence.” He delved into a drawer in his desk and withdrew a battered bronzed bracelet, decorated with arcane symbols and several functional buttons. “No one from Earth made that. The technology was alien, integral to the _Liberator_ itself.”

His second-in-command was squinting again. Not reading this time, but thinking. “As I recall,” he said slowly, “the teleport system required crew interaction. The computer did not operate it.”

“The Orac computer could operate it,” Brose corrected him. “The ship’s computer could not. Or would not.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Whatever the reason, a member of Blake’s crew was required to operate the system as necessary.”

“That must have been inconvenient. Someone would have had to stay on duty at all times while the teleport was in use.”

Brose snorted. “Blake had one of those pathetic sycophants do it for him. Too arrogant to do it himself.”

Carson was not listening. He was absorbed in quiet study of the symbols on the side of the bracelet. “Were these operating instructions?” he asked.

“Impossible to say. The people who could have told us died years ago.”

“Cabalistic, perhaps,” Carson mused. “A strict ritual may have had to have been observed in the teleport’s usage.”

Brose gave a derisive laugh. “These were men of science, Carson! Superstition has no place in the operation of advanced technology like this. Teleportation is a serious business...”

* * * * * * *

“Forwards.”

“Backwards.”

“In?”

“Out, definitely out. Always out.”

“You’re sticking with that?”

“Yes, because I’m right. You’ll see.”

Cally caught the drifting sound of voices as she made her way down the corridor leading to the teleport section. Vila and Jenna, from the sound of it, striking some sort of deal. There was something important at stake too, for when Cally arrived at the head of the stairs, it was to find the pair sealing the agreement with a handshake.

Whatever it was brought a guilty expression to Vila’s face when he caught sight of her. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open and he pulled his hand quickly out of his co-conspirator’s grasp. Seeing his reaction, Jenna glanced over her shoulder and took a more casual approach by leaning up against the teleport console. 

“Ready?” she asked.

Cally nodded. An hour ago, Blake had gone down to Zotoria with Gan to meet with the representatives of the planet. They had not heard from him since, despite his assurances that their reception was guaranteed to be warm. Too warm apparently, for when Gan did make contact, he sounded merry as though he had been indulging. Zotoria, known as the galaxy’s vineyard, was living up to its reputation. 

All was well, Gan had been eager to reassure them. He had followed it up with a request from Blake that Avon join them. The Zotorians were having trouble with an unknown blight on their grapes. Rumour was that it had been introduced by the Federation to cripple Zotoria’s economy and bring the planet under their control. A recalibration of the central computers that regulated pest control would be sufficient to deal with the problem; in return, they were offering a safe haven and as many barrels of wine as the _Liberator_ could accommodate.

Vila, naturally, had offered to accompany Avon. He had chosen Cally instead. That had not deterred Vila from trying to change her mind.

“You don’t have to go, you know, just because Avon says so,” he persisted. “I could do it, if you want a rest.”

“Why should I want to rest?” said Cally.

“Well, you’re always on your feet. All that standing and walking about you do is tiring.”

She gave him a bemused glance. “You are not making any sense.”

“Oh, he makes perfect sense to me,” said Jenna. “If you go down there, Vila, we’ll never see you again.”

“Fine wines they’ve offered us!” he retorted indignant. “I’m a connoisseur. I know a good wine when I drink it.” He sat back and folded his arms. “If we leave it to Blake and Gan, they’ll come back with any old plonk. How is that going to improve morale?”

Jenna arched an eyebrow. “Your morale must be pickled by now.”

“Listen, I was told once that a glass of wine is good for your health. So imagine what a whole bottle could do!”

“Forget it, Vila. You aren’t going.” She turned back to Cally. “Where’s Avon?”

“Coming. He wanted to get a weapon.” She noticed the smug look Jenna threw at Vila. “What did I say?”

“It’s not you, Cally,” said Jenna. “I had bet with Vila that Avon would be armed, that’s all.”

“Did you win?”

“That wasn’t the bet,” said Vila, screwing up his nose. “Avon always goes armed. If he went to the President’s tea-party, he’d take a weapon. As long as he doesn’t start shooting the bottles, he’ll be all right. The Zotorians consider their vintages to be sacred.”

“Then what was the bet?” Cally enquired.

Jenna paused before replying. “Avon has a habit of having his gun drawn when he teleports down.”

“That’s right, he does.”

“Not always,” Vila countered. “I’ve seen him go down plenty of times with it still in its holster.”

“Sometimes,” Jenna conceded. “Most of the time though he’s expecting trouble. Given how long it took for Gan to make contact, I say he will be wary.”

“And that’s your bet?” said Cally. “Whether Avon draws his weapon or not?”

“Partly,” said Vila. “There’s how he goes down too.”

Cally frowned, not understanding.

“You know how usually we back into the teleport and face whoever is at the controls? Well, recently Avon has been going in forwards. You haven’t noticed?” said he, seeing Cally’s frown deepen. “Look at when he got me to go to Fosforon with him. In we went, facing the wall. What’s the first thing we did when we got down? We had to turn round. He had me spinning like a top in the middle of nowhere!”

“Yes, I remember,” she said. “I thought it was strange.”

“I say it was a one-off,” said Jenna. “He’ll go in backwards, gun drawn.”

“Forwards,” Vila reiterated. “Gun holstered. Catch off though. He wouldn’t want to be completely off-guard.”

“What does the winner get?” asked Cally.

“The winner gets to go to bed,” said Jenna, grinning. “The loser gets my night shift.” She put her finger to her lips as footsteps were heard heading in their direction. “Don’t tell him.”

On cue, Avon appeared, zipped up in his silver coat, weapon in its holster dangling from his belt. “Ready, Cally?” Brusque and businesslike as ever, he scarcely gave her time to answer before turning his attention to Vila and Jenna. “Stay alert. This could be a trap.”

“I’ll go, if you’re worried,” offered Vila, eagerly rising from his seat behind the console.

Avon looked unimpressed. “They didn’t ask for you. I’ll call in if I need you. Until then, stay here.”

“All that wine and none to drink,” Vila moaned, slumping back down. “I think I’m suffering from the grape depression.”

Leaving Vila to wither under his look of contempt, Avon grabbed a teleport bracelet and snapped it around his wrist. Breaths were held as he started for the platform, his back to them, gun still at his side. Vila gave Jenna a grin of victory. Then, at the last moment, Avon spun on his heel, pulled out his weapon and faced them. Vila’s triumphant expression faded.

“I get to sleep tonight,” said Jenna under her breath. “Thanks, Vila.”

“What was that?” Avon demanded.

“Nothing,” said Cally, sharing a knowing smile with the others as she joined him. “Just a private arrangement between friends.”

“All right. Put us down.”

“Sure you want to go down like that?” said Vila. “There’s still time to turn around, you know.”

Avon started to laugh. “So that’s what this is about. I had a bet with Blake I could get you to enter the teleport forwards. I won.”

“Told you,” said Jenna.

“Now get on with it.”

“At least bring me back something,” Vila whined as the pair dematerialised. “I think I need it after that!”


	3. The Recreation Room

**The Recreation Room**

“What about this room?” Carson said, passing the blueprints back to Brose. “It appears to be a communal space. I see that recliners were listed for this room.”

“For orgies, no doubt!” Brose declared. “You know what these rebels are like.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Consider yourself fortunate, Carson. Had you been a captive of Blake’s debauched and depraved group, you would not have lasted long. Not a single moral between them. Are you aware of their backgrounds? Thieves and murderers the lot of them. Pity the good Federation citizen who fell into their clutches.”

“Then this room was for...?”

“Torture. Fornication. Uncivilised acts.” There was a prurient gleam in Brose’s piggy eyes as he lavished saliva across his puckered lips. “Imagine it, Carson, what degenerate behaviour we might have glimpsed if we had a camera into the past, what horrors we might have witnessed...”

* * * * * * *

Clutching a book screen as she walked along the corridor, Jenna found Vila in a dark blue silk dressing gown, with his ear pressed to the door of the recreation room. He looked up guiltily at her approach and took a step back.

“I wasn’t listening!” he exclaimed. 

“Yes, you were,” said Jenna. “What’s happening?”

She joined Vila at the door, hearing the faint murmur of voices from within.

“Let’s try another position,” she could hear Avon saying. “This is impossible.”

“That’s because your angle is all wrong,” Cally was chiding him. “You need to bring your hips up. Yes, that’s better. Here, let me help you. Ease yourself in. Slowly, remember, it's not a race.”

A moan, halfway between misery and ecstasy, sounded from within.

“Keep going,” Cally was encouraging him. “You’re very tight back here, Avon. Try keeping your knees bent.”

“What’s she doing to him?” Vila hissed. 

“Yoga,” Jenna said with a sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“Blake sent me. Something about relaxation exercises.”

It crossed her mind to mention that if Vila relaxed any more, he might fall into a coma. 

“What about you?” he asked.

“Catching up on my reading,” she said, indicating the screen.

Vila turned anxious eyes on her as she tried to walk on. “Come in with me, Jenna. I don’t feel safe on my own. Cally might tie me in knots!”

“Then why did you come?”

He shrugged. “I’ll try anything once.”

Jenna pressed the button and the door swept back. Inside, Cally was standing at Avon’s side, holding him around the waist. Bent double, supported on hands and feet with his hips high in the air, he was groaning in agony.

“Vila, Jenna,” she said, pleased to see them. “You’ve come to join us?”

Vila gave Avon a dubious look. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

Cally gave him a reassuring smile. “Avon has done very well. He has managed to master the Downward Dog.” She lowered her head to address him. “I think you’ve had enough. Your hamstrings are much looser now. Shall I let you down?”

“Yes,” he grated. “Oh, please, yes.”

Cally released him. Avon promptly collapsed onto his stomach, unable to hold himself up any more.

“Good, was it?” Vila asked.

“Ask me later,” came the breathless reply. Arms shaking, brow beaded with perspiration, Avon made a tentative effort to prop himself up. Seeing Vila in his dressing gown, he scowled. “What have you come as?”

“I’ve got my exercise clothes on under here.” He tugged his belt tighter around his middle. “I put this on because I was cold.”

“This will warm you up.” With a grunt of effort, Avon dragged himself upright and brushed the dust from his hands. “Decided to give it another go, Jenna?”

“No. I’m here to give Vila support.”

“You’ll be fine,” Cally said to him consolingly. “We’ll start with something easy. Avon started with something simple. He is much improved.” Vila took in his sweaty, dishevelled appearance and looked uneasy. “Let’s get started. Remove your robe.”

Jenna settled herself on one of the recliners while Vila divested himself of his dressing gown. Letting it fall, he stood there proudly, clad in a close-fitting pastel blue body-stocking that ended at his neckline, wrists and ankles. Several sizes too small for him, the shiny material emphasised every lump, bump and bulge. 

Cally averted her eyes.

Jenna buried her face behind the book screen and tried to contain a sudden fit of giggles.

Avon looked him up and down. “Vila,” he snapped. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“What? Don’t you wear a leotard when you’re exercising? Luckily for me, I found this one in the clothes store. Must have belonged to one of the Altas.” Vila put his hands on his hips. The garment stretched and strained at the seams. “Not bad, eh?”

“It’s very nearly obscene.”

“No, it isn't. You're only jealous because you want one.”

“It will do for now,” Cally interjected. “Perhaps something looser next time though. You might find it easier.”

“Don’t humour him,” said Avon. “Vila, go and change.”

“We’ll manage. Why don’t you rest?”

Grudgingly, he took the recliner a few feet away from Jenna. Cally guided Vila into the space between them.

“Now,” she began. “How flexible are you?”

“I can't do Wednesdays!” Vila quipped. Seeing her expression, his jocularity faded. “Sorry. Old joke.”

“Kneel,” she instructed. He did as he was told. “Spread your knees. Big toes touching. That’s right. Now sit back on your heels. Good. Now breathe out.” She rested a hand on his back and gently pushed him forward. “Down you go, rest your chest on her knees, forehead on the floor, if you can. Then extend your arms.”

Jerkily, Vila went down, making little gasps of melodramatic pain the lower he got. The further he went, the more the material pulled. With his head almost to the ground, there suddenly came the sound of fabric being ripped apart as the body-stocking split down the centre of his back and on between his legs. 

Cally blushed. 

Avon sighed with disgust. 

Jenna covered her eyes and almost choked laughing.

“Is there a draught in here?” Vila called out.

Cally gathered up his robe and laid it over his back. “Just relax. Allow all tension to drain away.”

“I’ll do that,” he murmured. “I’ll relax. That’ll be nice, having nothing to do.”

“Isn’t that what you always do?” said Avon.

Cally shushed him. “Now close your eyes.”

“Good idea.” Vila’s voice sounded sleepy. “I’ll close my eyes. Just for a minute.”

“And breathe, in and out.” 

Cally kept talking. Beside her, Vila was in a state of complete relaxation. Then came the sound of a gentle purr, followed by a long, rattling snore. Cally bent down to peer into his face.

“He’s asleep,” she said indignantly. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

“It shows your relaxation techniques work,” said Jenna.

“He isn’t getting the benefit of it if he’s asleep.”

“But we are,” said Avon, lying back and closing his eyes. “Leave him, Cally. Let’s enjoy the silence.” Vila let out another loud snort and smacked his lips in his sleep. “Or as much as anyone can have with him in the room!”


End file.
